


and while I may hold you in my tender arms, let soft sleep indeed be mine on the harsh earth

by varvarvar



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: A little bit of angst, Akaashi Keiji is Bad at Feelings, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Blacksmith Kuroo Tetsurou, Fae & Fairies, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, KuroAka week 2020, Loneliness, M/M, Minor Shimizu Kiyoko/Tanaka Ryuunosuke, Minor Tanaka Saeko/Tsukishima Akiteru, Minor Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi, Mutual Pining, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Akaashi Keiji, Witch Akaashi Keiji, Witches, kind of, many characters are mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:39:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27940118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/varvarvar/pseuds/varvarvar
Summary: “Stay.”It comes out more breathless than he would have liked but he is painfully aware that his porcelain mask is breaking apart in a million pieces, his selfishness and loneliness pouring from his mouth as his hand tightens around Kuroo’s wrist.-Akaashi thinks he doesn't belong anywhere. Kuroo shows him how wrong he is.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 20
Kudos: 71





	1. What use to lie on a Tyrian bed, without love’s favours, if night comes with wakefulness and weeping?

**Author's Note:**

> “and while I may hold you in my tender arms,  
> let soft sleep indeed be mine on the harsh earth.  
> What use to lie on a Tyrian bed, without love’s favours,  
> if night comes with wakefulness and weeping?  
> Since then no feather pillows, no embroidered covers,  
> no sound of soothing waters brings repose.”  
> (A plea to Delia, 1, 2, Tibullus)
> 
> The prompt for day 7 of KuroAka week was glass and magic au and for some reason I went with both.  
> -
> 
> this fic has now its own [board!](https://pin.it/3l4ve93) on Pinterest because the aesthetic would not get out of my head

Keiji looks at the calico with more resignation than anger.

He should have expected this behaviour, considering he left the cat by himself for an extended period of time because of his most recent assignment. He looks at his glasses in pieces on the floor, thrown off the table by the feline.

He sighs heavily, casting a spell under his breath that makes the pieces levitate from the floor and land in the glass jar on his desk. It was given to him by Aone for the time he prepared the potion to save his son from an unknown disease and he treasures it fondly, its presence fitting well with the other objects in his home. He scans carefully his studio, finding comfort in the fact that his plants all seem to not have suffered from his absence, the spell he put into place to provide them with water functioning quite well. There are at least twenty of them, some hanging from the ceiling, others in the corners of the room, the succulents aligned orderly on his desk and on the surfaces of the library not covered by his old volumes.

“I am sorry I was gone.” he murmurs truthfully, stretching one hand towards the calico, attempting to move him to pity and sliding the other one in his leather bag, retrieving the herb he travelled so far to find. It’s needed for winter, since Yuki-onna is on her way and half of the village ends up being bed ridden because of cold and flu, frost covering every surface. His master used to always say that no herb could cure a seasonal cold and Keiji thinks that unfortunately she might have been right, but he wanted to at least attempt, since it is his duty to protect the village.

The cat finally pushes his cheek against his fingertips, making him smile a little bit, despite his still shattered glasses. There are certain things that magic can’t fix. It can’t bring back people from death, as he has to remind to several humans that come knock at his door, it can’t cure a seasonal cold or fix glasses. It is so that balance can be maintained, otherwise the other practices would be extinct and magic would rule everything.

So, Keiji is condemned to an entire day spent squinting, unless…

“Ken.” He chastises the cat now, realising there was a hidden purpose for his behaviour, a trap carefully strategized in which he fell face first.

He feels the tips of his ears already blushing at the prospect of what he will have to do. However, postponing it will only prolong his embarrassment and the technical difficulty of actually struggling to see, so he straightens his back, maybe pushing his nose up in the air a little bit, just to let his magic cat know he doesn’t appreciate this behaviour, and he closes his bag, grabbing his coat. Ken seems to be smiling evilly under his whiskers and Keiji wishes for once that they could communicate in other ways other than magic just to give him a piece of his mind.

He steps out of his office, walking quickly through his kitchen, the white tiles shining under the light coming from the skylight on the ceiling, filtered by the maple tree turning red that stretches one of its branches over his roof. He closes the little cottage behind himself, taking in the scenery. Sometimes Keiji forgets to stop and appreciate the beauty of their village. He lives a little bit out of it, closer to the woods in order to venture into them when he needs a specific ingredient under full moonlights.

The woods have officially turned red, yellow and orange, the shades blurring together because of his eyesight, ironically reminding Keiji of the fireplace that he’ll have to light up in a few weeks, when snow will come. Not yet, however, he thinks happily angling his face towards the weak rays of the autumnal sun, barely able to warm his face up. If he had his glasses, he would definitely catch sight of a few squirrels running from one branch to the other.

He walks through the path, careful to proceed with caution in order not to tumble down, his home providing such a lovely view because of its favourable position, up a small hill. The weeds by the sides of the dirt road are tall now and they tickle the palm of his hands, as he finally sees the village. It’s small, the sight of thatched roofs, recognisable despite his lack of glasses, flowing him with fondness. The village has been his home for a while now and despite being reserved, he cares deeply about each person living in it, not only because he is supposed to take care of them, the duty of every witch to look after their villagers, but because the people are always kind to him.

Tendou gives him homemade cakes and sweets every time he provides him with the ointment for his fingers, the Tanakas always let him have the meat they just hunted for free when he goes over to check on their children’s fever. There’s nothing he can really do about that but Ryu is a worrier, as Kiyoko always loves to point out, when it comes to the kids and he feels better if Keiji checks on them. Ushijima always thanks him by giving him extra logs for the fireplace in his order every winter for helping him using a levitating spell on the wood chopped even he can’t lift, Yachi always leaves little pots and vases on his doorstep when she goes on her walks through the woods, claiming to do it to thank him for the time he fixed her entire shop when a tree fell over it and destroyed the products. And yet, he still can’t fix his own glasses and he has to walk all the way to the centre of town.

He is not scared of getting lost or falling, since he knows the path by heart, but he can already feel the excitement building in his belly and it’s annoying considering how long he spent trying to repress these feelings. He sighs, looking at the wild flowers amongst the weeds, blurry yellows, lilacs and whites among the green expansion of the free land surrounding the village.

When he reaches it, the first person that sees him is Natsu, running to meet him halfway until she’s right in front of him panting, her pigtails still wobbling from the fast run. “Akaashi-san!” she squeals happily.

“Hello, Natsu.” he replies, unable to keep the smile off of his face, seeing her cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Oh, you’ve broken your glasses again? What a coincidence!” she exclaims, giggling behind her hand. Keiji feels his cheeks becoming warm instantly, under the little girl’s scrutiny.

“Have you been good to Sugawara-sensei, while I was gone?” he asks, as they start walking towards the entrance of the village, where the Tsukishimas, Akiteru and Saeko’s oldest and middle child, playing hopscotch.

“Of course! I am not like Shoyo.” she laughs, shaking her head, making Keiji send her a scolding look.

She’s not technically wrong, Shoyo was a terrible student. He remembers arriving at the village when he was fourteen, the age for every witch to move to their assigned village under the guidance of their master, and receiving the younger boy at his cottage, Kageyama standing next to him, not meeting his eyes. In the end, they managed to request, between stutters, a spell to help them study. It’s one of the requests that Keiji can’t really fulfil, but at the time he was young and eager to be helpful, so he ended up spending an entire afternoon between dusty volumes until his master found out about it and scolded him for it.

She runs off, going back to play with the other kids, their joyful laughs accompanying Keiji during the last steps of his journey. While Keiji enjoys the quiet of the woods, certain elements of the village never fail to bring him comfort: mothers calling after their children, the smell of homemade pies coming from the houses, the loud sounds of people working hard and amongst those… the steady clang coming from the forge.

He heads in that direction, excited and nervous in equal measure.

“Akaashi-san!” greets politely Yamaguchi, spraying with water the plants outside of his shop. Keiji thinks briefly if he needs any new houseplants or seeds, but he figures in the end he can always come back if they are needed.

“Yamaguchi-san, Tsukishima-san.” he replies, acknowledging the librarian with a nod.

“I didn’t know you were back from your trip.” continues Yamaguchi, earning a nod from Tsukishima, who is sitting on the doorstep of the library, stretching his legs out in front of him.

It used to be a rare sight, since the blond preferred to be alone, or that was what Akiteru said when people asked why his younger brother never socialised with the rest of the village, but once Yamaguchi renovated his shop and started spending more time outside in the warmer months, Kei ended up joining his childhood best friend, glaring at the sunrays and the people that made too much noise, seemingly reading a book when in reality his attention was on Yamaguchi.

“I have just left my belongings home, but I broke my glasses and…” he trails off, gesturing towards the forge.

“It is most joyful to know that you are back, considering Kuroo-san has been borrowing books about poetry nearly every day since you left.” mumbles Tsukishima, not meeting Keiji’s eyes but smiling evilly to himself.

It reminds Keiji of Ken in an odd way. Yamaguchi barely manages to hide his snicker, smiling apologetically at him when he realises that he has been caught.

“I shall get going then, Kuroo-san doesn’t really have anybody to talk about poetry with, when I am away.” he replies coldly, knowing Tsukishima will take offense in that.

They wave at him as he walks away and talk in hushed tones as soon as he stops in front of the forge. He is aware of their eyes on him so he can’t really steel himself for what’s about to come, but he allows himself to take a deep breath before stepping inside the heat of the forge.

Kuroo Tetsurou is standing in the middle of his workspace, sweat making the thin linen shirt he is wearing stick to his skin and the muscles of his forearms glisten in the dimmed light of the forge. His face scrunched up in concentration is painted in red and yellow hues, because of the fire he is working on, pouring melted metal in a small container. His hair is as messy as usual and there is a streak of grease on his cheek and yet Keiji’s heart trembles.

He wishes he had the possibility to throw himself in Kuroo’s arms. Instead, he grips his hands to stop himself from daring to touch him. He feels like Psyche the first time she gazed upon Cupid in awe but terrified, the risk of accidentally burning Kuroo lingering even after the smith realises someone is in his forge and raises his head.

His cheeks are flushed from the heat and the grin he gives him is carefree, until it disappears into an alarmed expression.

“Bo-“

Keiji, however, doesn’t duck when the Kuroo’s owl, Bo, lands on his shoulder.

Thanks to the various layers of clothing he is wearing, his coat, his cardigan and his shirt, the sharp claws don’t hurt him as the horned owl, majestic at first and funny once one gets to know him, hoots at him. Keiji smiles warmly, his fondness for the bird allowing him to forget of his worries briefly, as he raises his hand to stroke his head gently, the feathers impossibly soft. Bo closes his eyes, leaning into the touch just like a cat or a human would, and Kuroo sighs, managing to snap back Keiji’s attention on him.

“Akaashi-kun, I am starting to think you only visit me to see him.” teases the blacksmith, scratching the owl once it settles on his shoulder.

Keiji despised at first the teasing that came from interacting with Kuroo. He immediately felt the need to defend himself, snapping back at the boy. He only learned later, when they both grew into men, that Kuroo teases lightly those he enjoys spending time with and that he is good, kind and selfless. He also learned that Kuroo welded metal read poetry and grew several inches, his growth sprout not stopping until he filled with lean muscles his tall frame.

“What a terrible accusation. Do I need a reason to visit you?” he asks, seeing his own amusement reflected in Kuroo’s expression.

“You don’t,” it’s said softly, looking directly in his eyes and Keiji’s urge to reach out and simply splay his hand on his broad chest, makes him dizzy for a second “but your lack of glasses surely is telling.”

He blinks, realising the purpose of his visit must be pretty evident for outsiders, used to see him wear the glasses.

“Ah yes,” he sighs, reaching in his bag “I am afraid Ken didn’t take my small trip too well.”

He doesn’t include the particular of his cat’s poor attempt of match making, handing the glass jar with the rests of his glasses to Kuroo. Despite how he tries to avoid their fingers touching, their pinkies overlap for a second, Kuroo’s warm skin incandescent against his hand still cold from the walk outside. Their eyes meet for a second and Keiji feels the tips of his ears burn, as he loses himself a little bit in Kuroo’s eyes. They are very pretty, especially when the fire of the forge is reflected in them and they hold an acute intelligence and disarming kindness he has yet to see in anybody else.

“You know,” mumbles nervously the smith, moving his hand away but keeping eye contact “I missed you while you were gone.”

_What?_

“You did?”

Kuroo’s eyes widen and they snap away from his as he turns around to grab some tools.

“Of course, we missed you! You are invaluable for our town.”

 _Of course_ , thinks Keiji, it would be silly to even entertain the idea of Kuroo missing him, of all people.

“You are too kind.” he replies.

He means it. Kuroo goes around town fixing everything he can for free, not accepting anything in return, always reassuring the people receiving the favours that they could repay him the next time, when really he never allows them. He is loved by the kids, the youngest because he can lift them easily in the air, making them squeal happily, the oldest because of his wisdom and kind guidance. And yet, he is so cruel and unaware of it, every time he smiles in his direction, being so close yet so out of reach, so kind and uninterested in Keiji.

“Could you give me a bit of light?” he asks, turning back towards him. Keiji nods, muttering a spell before three balls of cold light start floating around the room, making Bo hoot with enthusiasm. Kuroo looks at them in astonishment, their light setting shadows on his face under his eyes when he bats his long lashes, smiling up at the source of light.

“No matter how many times I see magic, I never get tired of it.” he whispers, his voice filled with wonder, too intimate, the admiration with which he looks at Keiji too much for him in such a tight place, the warmth of the fire suffocating him.

He gasps for air when Kuroo finally looks down at the glasses. His hands are gentle as he carefully handles the shattered pieces. That is another aspect of Kuroo that has Keiji toss and turn in his too big bed as he looks at the stars at night from his skylight.

There is a complexity in him that reminds Keiji of fictional characters; he will tease and taunt but guide and advise when needed, he would beat metal with a hammer, budging muscles and furrowed eyebrows and then carefully carve wood or make jewellery or fix Keiji’s glasses, he would pour hot melting metal in stone containers and then lay in the field outside of Keiji’s house talking about poetry as he gazes at the clouds, racing through the sky because of the wind, that makes the weeds bend enough for Keiji to see Kuroo laying form next to wild flowers, leaving a print in the tall grass.

His fingers are light and they tread carefully on the broken glass and the thin metal of the frame, his big hands, bigger than Akaashi, so delicate. Keiji wants them to hold his tenderly in a cold wintery day, he wants them to frame his face, thumbs brushing on his cheekbones, he wants the palm splayed on his lower back, the fingertips fitting perfectly in the dips between his vertebrae and the fingers buried in his curls, either scratching his scalp or yanking his hair, around his thin wrist in the middle of a field.

“Ah Akaashi-kun,” mumbles Kuroo looking up at him with a doubtful expression, “I am afraid this repair is going to take me more time than expected. Would it be okay for me to bring you the glasses once I am done?”

Keiji blinks, thinking of Kuroo knocking on his door, the image of his tall figure barely contained by his wooden door frame, the autumnal breeze caressing his fringe, as the village and the fields stretch out under the sun at the foot of the hill. He is so close to saying no, that he will come to forge and collect the glasses himself, because he can’t possibly let Kuroo in his house if he wishes to keep him out of his heart, when the older man looks away, a crimson flush colouring his cheeks.

“I also found a poem I think you would adore, while you were gone. It made me think of you, in some way.”

 _Oh no_ , thinks Keiji, barely containing the magic that wants to flow out of him at that statement, his emotions a storm raging in his heart as tries to keep his expression neutral, hiding his shaking hands behind his lower back.

“Of course, Kuroo-san, that won’t be a problem. Please don’t overwork yourself, it is not urgent.”

Kuroo smiles shaking his head.

“We wouldn’t want our witch to be unable to help us, right?” he chuckles.

Keiji smiles, feeling a sense of belonging, hearing his words, he craved while being away. He always worried about being an outsider, physically living just out of the village and maintaining his distance emotionally. It has just always been better that way, guarding his feelings.

He started as a child, when he was taught that magic is inherently connected to emotions. The feelings don’t necessarily need to be happy is what he found out quickly enough, but powerful. However, once they become overwhelming to the user, it is hard to keep the magic under control, and what happens most times is that random bursts of light or fire would erupt from Keiji’s hands, when he is feeling too anxious or if he has been overthinking for too long.

However, he found out, when Kuroo walked him to his cottage on a rainy day, using a dumb excuse to keep him company through the miserable journey, that affection can have the same effect. He had barely managed to hide the light emitting from his fingertips when Kuroo had brushed away a drop of water from his cheekbone, smiling at him, soaked from the walk.

So Keiji has another reason to bury his silly infatuation for the blacksmith, other than the fact that Kuroo is definitely not in love with him.

“I shall see you tomorrow then. Thank you again, Kuroo-san.” he smiles, bowing imperceptibly at the older man before leaving.

The air of October should be refreshing after staying in the warmth of the forge for so long, but it feels more like a slap to the face, a reminder of what he can never have -love, warmth, touch- ripped away from him before he can even grasp it.

He takes a deep breath, rapidly walking through the village, nodding in Sawamura’s direction when he sees him take guard at the entrance gate, now that the sun has set and steeling himself for the steep section of the path. He is home before he knows it, turning around to look at the view from the hill.

The village is a mosaic of smoke coming from the chimneys and lit up windows as the vigil stars, now hanging from the sky, look over it and its people. It’s home and yet it isn’t and he feels a pang of pain at his inability to recall Kuroo reassuring words murmured in the forge.

The sense of belonging that he feels around the blacksmith always disappears and Keiji is doomed to feel again like an insignificant minuscule atom in the universe. He looks at the stars blurry because of his lack of glasses and the tears gathering in his eyes and he feels a familiar wave of loneliness, cradling himself as he wraps his arms around his waist.

He thinks of the endless philosophy books in his library, of all the knowledge he collected about health, magic, alchemy, herbology and yet none of it makes as much sense as the reflection of the fire flickering in Kuroo’s eyes or the cut he has on his left hand second knuckle.

He thinks of his everyday life and he realises that nothing makes him as happy as Kuroo reading him his favourite passages of a poem or Bo settling on his shoulder greeting him like a friend. He thinks of how he will have to look at Kuroo fall in love with somebody else and bear it, how he will have to spend endless nights alone and how he doesn’t know where home is despite being right in front of his cottage.

He wonders if he doesn’t belong there for a specific reason or because he feels unimportant and undeserving of the gratitude from the villagers or if he is to be inherently unhappy with existence, spending his life between dusty books and strong scented herbs, wondering what his purpose is in a universe so big and a village so small.

He looks at the entrance of the woods and he is reminded all at once of beauty and its power on him, staring at the small fairies floating above the ground, around the branches, emitting flickers of coloured light, pastel blue, lilac and soft pink. The tall grass, silver under the moonlight, bends when the wind caresses it as if bowing at the majestic sky quilted with stars.

He is reminded of beauty and how that cannot be ripped away from him, even when he is not held, even when he is not loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> This was my first time writing KuroAka and while I am sure this could be better, I really enjoyed the challenge of exploring a different dynamic! There will be either one more chapter or two more after this one :)  
> (Yes I had to turn Kenma and Bokuto into animals otherwise this would have turned into bokuakakuroken because I have no self control)  
> One day, my works won't be titled after poems and Kuroo won't be reading a book/poetry but that day isn't today apparently.  
> Let me know if I missed anything in the tags and I also apologize for any mistake or weird construct since English isn't my first language and I don't have a beta; let me know if I should correct something!  
> Comments of any kind are more than welcome!  
> A special thanks to my flatmates (that won't probably see this) for helping me remember the possible jobs to have in a village lol and Mali for suggesting Aone should be the one to give Akaashi the glass jar <3  
> Thank you SO MUCH for reading! <3
> 
> -spaces


	2. Since then no feather pillows, no embroidered covers, no sound of soothing waters brings repose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, here's the second chapter, this time from Kuroo's point of view!

Tetsurou is out of breath after walking too fast up the hill, the excitement to see Akaashi fuelling him like nothing else.

The sun hasn’t set yet but it’s on its way to hide behind the green hills, painting everything in a gorgeous yellow light that never fails to amaze him, turning the village gold and the tall weeds in corn fields during summer. He breaths in deeply the cold air before knocking on the wooden door, bending his head when he notices Akaashi’s ivy has grown, climbing from its pot on the window sill, to the wall.

The door opens revealing the witch. He looks a bit pale and tired, but his bitten lips stretch in a small smile to greet him and that is enough for Tetsurou’s heart to shake and tremble.

“Akaashi-kun.” he greets, taking in the dishevelled curls and the soft cream white cardigan he is wearing.

He remembers clearly the item of clothing, from when Akaashi first arrived at the village, fourteen and small for his age, hiding behind his master throughout the entire introduction but standing straight when it was his time to talk, only fidgeting slightly. Tetsurou remembers the day like the motions he needs to go through to bend metal in the forge: it’s second nature by now, thinking of how the night sky eyes framed by black inky lashes had met his for a brief second. Akaashi had proceeded with his life normally ever since, while Tetsurou had been changed forever.

It wasn’t simply that Akaashi was potentially the most beautiful person Tetsurou had ever seen, but it was the intelligence, the sharpness he saw in those eyes, mixed in equal measures with such strong longing and sadness. He had wanted nothing more to know what was plaguing the witch at the time, but after getting to know him, Tetsurou gathered a good understanding of his personality.

Akaashi is an overthinker, he fidgets when he is nervous or when he thinks he is imposing, he presents this polished version of himself to the rest of the world, worried of being seen as in not in control or breaking if he dares to loosen up. So, he rejects invitations to dinners during holidays and he hides in his lovely cottage during festivals in the village and he talks about literature, love and friendship without meeting his eyes, his hands shaking a bit.

Akaashi is soft spoken and polite, but it’s his sharp edges and the hunger in his eyes that Tetsurou wants to explore, he wants to see his façade crumble and see him lose control at least once. And then he wants to soothe him and round those sharp edges, like he would when carving wood.

“Kuroo-san.”

Tetsurou wished he stopped calling him that. He doesn’t dare thinking of his first name tumbling down those lips, only indulging in the thought late at night, when he imagines burying his fingers in Akaashi’s curls. But the formality, the distance between them every time Akaashi refers to him only reinforces his fears of being delusional, no matter how many nights he whispers his secret to the moon, asking for guidance.

“Please, come in.” murmurs Akaashi, shivering slightly because of the air getting in through the door.

Tetsurou wishes he could reach out and envelop him in a hug, blowing hot air against his neck, but Akaashi seems to be alarmed every time their bare skin touches or anyone from the village reaches out to pat him on the back so he has has accepted that touch isn’t welcome; he simply gives him his warmest smile, before entering in his house.

Akaashi’s cottage is nearly as lovely as its owner, mainly made of wood, a bit overcrowded by plants, books, glass vases and pots, with copious amount of light from the several windows. However, its real charm is the constant presence of magic. Tetsurou had been allowed in only twice before, Akaashi’s reserved nature making them meet, the rare times he accepted Tetsurou’s invitations, primarily outside in summer and at Iwaizumi’s inn during the cold seasons, but in both instances hints of magic were displayed through the house.

There is a cucu clock with colourful flowers painted on it twirling every time the minute hand moves, the chairs move away from the table to allow them to sit and when Akaashi is thinking for a long time the books on his desk open and the pages turn by themselves.

“Can I offer you anything?” asks Akaashi, motioning to the moving wooden chain in front of him, at the table in the middle of the kitchen.

Tetsurou’s eyes widen noticing the several jam tarts on porcelain plates, from Tendou and probably Alisa Haiba, freshly made bread in a handwoven basket, that Tetsurou assumes comes from Akiteru, jam clearly made with Asahi’s cherries, since the messy handwriting on label can only be Nishinoya’s and many more homemade treats.

“People seem to think I need to be rewarded for my work.” justifies Akaashi, his cheeks scarlet as he looks at the several items on the table. Tetsurou knows the truth about those offers and how they symbolise both gratitude and another attempt of the village to connect with their witch.

“I find myself agreeing with them. We’d truly be lost without you. I'd like a cup of tea, please.”

It comes out before he can think of the effect of the words or their weight, but without missing a bit, Akaashi’s eyes widen, before he turns rapidly away from him.

“Any milk in your tea?” he asks, turning around with a small porcelain creamer, matching the plates.

“Yes, please.” he replies, the image of Akaashi in his own house, so close to the vulnerable, raw version of him he wishes he had access to, the cardigan slipping down from his shoulder, the hands missing the many rings he wears when he’s out, the bright kitchen, full of mouth-watering delicacies, the smell coming from the still warm jam tarts, the sound of the water being poured from the kettle, the simple offering of the milk, immediately tugging at his heartstring, an image of domesticity and intimacy he longs for.

A mug is set in front of him, the water slowly turning to a light brown as it is infused and then to a soft orange when Akaashi pours the milk in, looking in his eyes to receive the signal to stop. Tetsurou very nearly loses himself in those eyes, nodding a bit later what he would have liked.

The piece of cake is offered to him without asking if he wants any, most probably Akaashi’s new way of thanking him, since he refuses to accept payments from the witch. Tetsurou turns to grab his bag, feeling a gentle pressure on his knees.

When he looks down, Ken, Akaashi's magic calico, is rubbing its side against him. He smiles, moving the wooden case containing the fixed glasses to the table and he reaches down to scoop the cat up and place him in his lap. Ken glares at him, but he lets him scratch him under the chin, closing his big golden eyes in bliss.

“I’ll never understand how you do it. He won’t even let me pet him and I am his owner.” grumbles Akaashi, looking betrayed.

Tetsurou can’t help but laugh, resting his hand on Ken’s head as he takes the first bite from the cake.

It tastes incredibly good, melting on his tongue, and he hums happily, taking a sip of his tea.

“I haven’t had the chance to ask, how was your trip?”

Akaashi’s eyes light up a little, his passion for magic always igniting him with enthusiasm.

He tells him about the pretty waterfall he saw going there, his descriptions of the places he visited to find the herb turn them in the most idyllic corners of the earth. Akaashi always had the power of turning things into beauty either with his magic or with his words.

He has a crumb next to his lips stained red by the jam that was in the cake and Tetsurou’s hand twitches with the need to remove it and maybe brush his thumb across his bottom lip, that always sticks out when he faces a new problem and he is looking for a solution. He is simply thinking it one moment and the next he is leaning across the table, cupping Akaashi’s cheek and slowly rubbing his thumb against the corner of his mouth. He can feel his heartbeat hammering in his fingertips as he realises when he has just done, but he doesn’t move away.

“Crumb.” he justifies weakly, lowering his eyes from Akaashi’s to his bitten red lips.

He wants to soothe the bites with soft kisses but he feels the younger boy tensing up, his eyes cold and merciless when they meet Tetsurou’s. He nearly flinches back as if burned, receiving that look and he can’t help but wonder what is wrong with him. Akaashi very clearly doesn’t care about him, not in the same way he does, and persevering or trying to seduce him, which isn’t something he thinks he can do really, is just inconsiderate.

“I should give you the glasses, you must be bored with seeing everything fuzzy.” he mumbles, ducking his head, closing his hands around the case.

“I don’t mind it too much when I am in a familiar place. The edges soften, everything blurs together and it’s less… overwhelming.”

Tetsurou straightens up quickly at the admission. It’s surprisingly vulnerable as proved by the redness of his cheeks so he takes his time to reply.

“Do you find the world to be often overwhelming?”

When no answer comes and Akaashi starts fidgeting nervously, Tetsurou decides to take the first step.

“Because I do. No matter how small our village is and the fact that we know everybody,” he sighs, meeting Akaashi’s widening eyes “I still get scared. I think of the future, I think of change and it scares me and excitse me in equal measure. I feel small, so small and yet this life, being a blacksmith and never leaving this place, sometimes feels a bit claustrophobic. But when that happens,” he slides the case between them “I look for comfort in what I know. I carve wood, I read my favourite poems, I feed Bo.”

“You carved this?” asks Akaashi, awe and admiration so evident on his features that Tetsurou barely avoids blushing all the way up to his hairline.

As if someone as special and unique as Akaashi could ever be fascinated by something he did.

“Yes. It’s yours. It’ll keep your glasses safe, hopefully.” he explains, feeling self-conscious and opening the case.

“May I? I need to check if they need to be tightened or adjusted.”

He receives a silent nod, the younger still concentrated on the case, and he takes the delicate tools in his hands before grabbing Akaashi’s chin, angling up to look at him. He loses himself for a second, admiring the slope of his nose, the arch of his eyebrows, the lines of his cupid bow and cheekbones, his eyes, icy, dangerous, a hunger for something in them that he can’t understand.

He slides the glasses on gently, pushing them up until they fit perfectly, the silver frame forcing his focus again on his eyes, the stems resting between his curls.

“You are breath-taking.”

He doesn’t really mean to say it out loud but his grandfather always told him that when a feeling is too strong, it swells in people’s chests until it pops, like a too-big bubble, either making them do or say something.

Tetsurou expects him to tense and lean back, away from his hands, where his intense gaze can’t burn him, but instead Akaashi stutters a weak “thank you”, before looking down at his hands that are fidgeting.

The silence that follows holds everything Tetsurou hates of himself, his impulsiveness sometimes winning over his rational thoughts, blasting through the gates of his mind and making him say or do things he regrets, his awkwardness around people he likes or potential friends, the only thing left of the shyness that prevented him to connect with people as a child.

It’s his fault if they are left hearing the steady rhythm of the drops falling from the tap or Ken purring in his lap and in a second, he realizes he needs to leave and get a grip of himself, because of course Akaashi -gorgeous, smart, unattainable Akaashi- does not reciprocate his feelings and if he leaves now, he might salvage his dignity, avoid the disaster that would be coming to terms with the truth in front of Akaashi.

So, he gathers the broken pieces of his soul and his bag and he stands up wearing his best smile.

“I should get going, I inconvenienced you long enough.”

 _For the glasses and for my behaviour_ , however he doesn’t specify, trusting that a smart man like Akaashi can understand it himself.

He turns around and walks out of the door with no intention of coming back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> I know this chapter ends, just like the previous one, on a slightly angsty note but the next one will be the conclusion, with all the fluff and just a hint of angst  
> I'm not sure Kuroo's character comes across like I would have liked him to when reading, but the focus of this fic is Akaashi and his learning process so I hope I can be excused ahah  
> Hopefully I did justice to the cottagecore aesthetic in this chapter!!  
> Thank you for reading !! <3
> 
> -spaces
> 
> (if you want, you can scream about kuroken/kuroo/haikyuu with me on Twitter: @varivarvar)


	3. and while I may hold you in my tender arms, let soft sleep indeed be mine on the harsh earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He lets the mask shatter, the curtain fall and he whimpers, the dam holding the water back breaking and letting everything flood as he pushes his chin up to match the pressure of Kuroo’s soft lips against his. Kuroo’s mouth is only heat and softness, until it opens above Keiji and his teeth settle in the marks he has from biting his lip."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the third and last chapter!

It happens so fast Akaashi barely has time to react, but one second Kuroo is touching him, his fingertips on his skin feeling not much different from lava burning him inside out and the next he is leaving, closing the door of his tiny, lonely cottage to leave Akaashi with hands shaking with the need to comb his fingers through messy, coal black hair, staring at the sky one more night wondering if he is unlovable.

He jumps to his feet when the door clicks shut, the image of Kuroo’s sad eyes and empty smile as he said goodbye feeling like the sharp end of a dagger digging between his ribs, the contrast with the image of his soft smile during their previous conversation the fuel that makes him grab the handle and throw the door open.

The cold air slaps him in the face and he is blinded for a second by the sunlight, the star seemingly tusing what is left of its energy to paint the entire valley in bright gold.

All he sees is Kuroo’s silhouette against the light. When he tries to call his name, his voice doesn’t seem to work, the knot in his throat only tightening at the idea of being left alone with his thoughts, endless labyrinths of self-loathing and overthinking, mixed with snapshots of Kuroo’s hands and the corner of his mouth, the one he usually pushes up in a small smile whenever they talk. He lunges forward and he grabs his wrist.

When Kuroo turns around, it’s a vision so beautiful Keiji wonders how can his heart still beat when witnessing something so alike to an angel, the golden sun behind him looking like a halo.

“Akaashi-kun?” he asks.

It’s polite, but Akaashi is tired of polite, he wants to be grabbed and held and he wants to show the ugliest pieces of his soul to someone who would be willing to love him anyways, he wants to see Kuroo’s and realise that he still loves him despite all, just like the sun sets every day no matter what.

“Stay.”

It comes out more breathless than he would have liked but he is painfully aware that his porcelain mask is breaking apart in a million pieces, his selfishness and loneliness pouring from his mouth as his hand tightens around Kuroo’s wrist. Kuroo’s expression is enough to make him snap out of his urge to _touch, hold, reach_ for a moment.

“Stay, please.” he adds shakily, aware of how he must look, of the hunger reflected in his eyes and his tight hold of Kuroo’s wrist, but it’s all he can do.

“I will. Can I ask why?”

There is so much understanding and compassion in Kuroo’s eyes, that Keiji wonders if he’s about to crack open from the relief that spreads through his chest.

There are endless answers to that question

_because I love you,_

_because I thought once of how your fingers would look like slotted with mine and I haven’t thought of anything else since_

_because you showed me kindness when no one did_

_because I met your eyes in a crowd of strangers when I was fourteen and scared and despite not knowing you, it felt like home_

“I don’t feel like being alone right now.”

It’s the most acceptable option, something he would never say, too raw and real, but still the truth. Kuroo gets it, because he reaches for Keiji’s hand with his, bigger but gentler, and he peels it away from his wrist, only to envelop it in his and nod at him. And Keiji thinks that if he can’t open up, he can at least share with Kuroo the best thing he has, the beauty that allows him to get out of bed every morning.

“Come with me?” he whispers, feeling like he needs to be quiet now that the sun, drained from pouring gold paint all over them, has disappeared to rest behind the hills.

The sky is still bright, with lilac, light blue colours that remind him of a dream he had once and remembered in bits and pieces. A dream where he was loved and held.

Kuroo nods, following him when he starts walking towards the woods.

He releases his hand, that feels bare, cold and useless immediately. He also initiates the conversation, perhaps knowing that too many thoughts are scratching the walls of Keiji’s skull, making him unable to behave like usually would.

“Kuroo-san,” he stops walking when they reach the clearing.

Kuroo had been looking at him so when he turns around, he is not ready for what he sees.

The small lake in front of them, perfectly flat, the embodiment of peace and tranquillity, reflects the multitude of colours painting the sky, the lilacs, pinks and blues above them, as well as the greens of the few audacious branches trying to reach outwards, reminding Keiji of a painter’s palette. Kuroo gasps next to him and Keiji smiles, looking at the hundreds of small fairies hovering at different levels above the water.

They’re silver fairies, the kind that take care of placing dew and frost on trees, cobwebs and windows, recognisable because of their weak silver light, that makes humans mistake them for stars in the darkest nights. They are as big as Keiji’s nail, human like but they sport wings as big as their legs and all they do is fly over the water, run after each other and cause mischief to smaller animals like mice and rabbits. They don’t really care about Kuroo and Keiji, instinctively recognising Keiji as an ally because of the traces of magic on him.

“Akaashi,” whispers Kuroo turning to look at him with wide eyes “this place is incredible.”

“I’ll show you the best part.”

He touches tentatively Kuroo’s hand, to guide him towards his favourite part of the clearing. Keiji sits on the patch of grass right in front of the lake’s bank, the low branches of the majestic weeping willow acting as a curtain above him as he leans against the trunk and he feels the grass tickle his ankles where his trousers have ridden up. Kuroo joins him after a few seconds, looking around in wonder, lightly touching the white small flowers blossoming around them.

“Thank you for sharing this with me.” Kuroo’s voice is shaky when he talks again, because if beauty is what makes Keiji survive, it’s also what is able to move Kuroo.

Keiji blinks realising Kuroo means much more than simply showing him his favourite place in the world, using the word sharing, thinking of how he gripped him in desperation, displaying a needy part of himself that he hates. The blush on Kuroo’s cheekbones seems to suggest he doesn’t though, as well as the smile he gives him, comforting and warm.

“Didn’t you say,” he starts, his voice raspy “that you found a poem I would like?”

Kuroo’s eyes light up as he extracts a battered book form his bag.

“It’s by Latin poet. I would read you the original since you studied the language but I only have the translation.”

He opens up the book, smoothing down a page with sections underlined.

He starts reading, voice musical and soothing amongst the familiar sounds of the clearing. The poem is gorgeous and Keiji longs to find it in Latin only to marvel at how the grammatical constructs reflect the meaning.

“This is my favourite part.” murmurs Kuroo, his eyes meeting Keiji’s, a hint of worry and anticipation in them.

“ _and while I may hold you in my tender arms,_

_let soft sleep indeed be mine on the harsh earth._

_What use to lie on a Tyrian bed, without love’s favours,_

_if night comes with wakefulness and weeping?_

_Since then no feather pillows, no embroidered covers,_

_no sound of soothing waters brings repose_.”

Keiji blinks, the words piercing through him. All the loneliness and longing he has been feeling build up in his chest is in those few lines, his sleepless nights spent clutching at his pillow to silence sobs that no one other than the stars was going to hear, the twitches of his hand when Kuroo is close enough to touch, but too precious to do so.

Kuroo is quiet, he doesn’t continue reading, looking down at Keiji, resting his chin on his hand, with half lidded eyes. They’re hazy and hungry and Keiji is so lost in them he doesn’t realise Kuroo has leaned in until their noses bump together. There is no turning back, he realises, because Kuroo’s lips part before they meet with his and Keiji can’t and doesn’t want to move.

He lets the mask shatter, the curtain fall and he whimpers, the dam holding the water back breaking and letting everything flood as he pushes his chin up to match the pressure of Kuroo’s soft lips against his. Kuroo’s mouth is only heat and softness, until it opens above Keiji and his teeth settle in the marks he has from biting his lip.

Kuroo’s hand slips under his head to support him and Keiji is surrounded by him, sandwiched between his hand in his hair holding him up and his incandescent merciless lips, devouring Keiji, taping together his broken pieces with each press. Every thrust of tongue against tongue sews together patches of Keijii’s soul and fills to the brim the bare empty spaces in his chest; he feels whole.

Before he knows it, his hand on Kuroo’s cheek warms up and conjures up the beginning of a flame, his feelings forcing the magic to flow through him. Kuroo leans back with a small whine of pain, but before Keiji can apologise or check if he’s hurt, the older boy kisses him again and again and again, until all Keiji has left are his swollen lips and a tangle of emotions at the centre of his chest.

They part slowly the second time and Kuroo gently sets Keiji’s head down, to rest on the grass and between the flowers. His eyes run immediately to his cheek, but there is only redness and no burn, so he finally relaxes, pushing his face against the calloused fingertips dancing on his skin.

“As if you could ever hurt me.” whispers in bewilderment Kuroo above him, the smile on his face holding a ridiculous amount of affection.

No one has ever looked at Keiji like that, like they are proud of him, like all his flaws can be endearing. No one has ever looked at Keiji like they loved him.

He nearly laughs when the first tear trails down his cheek and he doesn’t only because Kuroo’s eyes widen in alarm.

“Keiji,” he says, looking distraught as he moves his thumb quickly to wipe the tears, but he can’t catch all of them because there are so many, now flowing copiously from his eyes.

_Oh, the sound of his name on Kuroo’s red slick lips._

The blacksmith is now babbling in panic, not looking at him anymore but at his hands, one second away from crying himself. Keiji sits up quickly and he lets himself fall against Kuroo’s chest. He doesn’t have it in himself to explain what is going on but the small gesture should suffice to reassure the older boy that his touch is anything but unwanted.

He tilts his head back to meet Kuroo’s eyes and all he manages to say, while his body is wrecked by sobs of relief and his mind overwhelmed by the knowledge that he is loved and by Kuroo of all people, the one he always wanted and never thought he could have, is “Hold me?”

Kuroo’s face crumbles, the understanding of what Keiji is feeling passing through his eyes as he nods, enveloping him tightly, pressing kisses on his temple.

“Oh, _darling_.” he repeats under his breath once, twice, a hundred times, as Keiji lets himself be loved for the first time.

It’s scary and Kuroo must know because he never stops kissing the skin he can reach, as he rests his back against the trunk of the tree. When Keiji is too drained from crying and overwhelmed with relief, he looks down at the grass, noticing the white flowers have multiplied.

“Your tears made them appear when they hit the ground.” explains helpfully Kuroo, intertwining their fingers with a happy smile.

“They are sweet alyssums,” he continues, “their meaning in the language of flowers is ‘worth beyond beauty’. Oddly fitting.”

Keiji bites his wobbly lip to prevent himself from crying again.

“Always so knowledgeable.” he teases as Kuroo holds a hand out for him to help him up.

“I listen when Yamaguchi rants about flowers. Someone needs to.” he confesses, leaning down and grabbing one of the flowers, before slotting it between Keiji’s fogged up glasses and his curls.

He doesn’t let his hand go as they walk back to the cottage.

Keiji goes to sleep that night soothed by the tapping sound of the rain on his window, no longer looking at the moon or the stars but at the man lying in his arms, gorgeous, kind and pure hearted. Keiji goes to bed with the certainty of belonging, of having a purpose.

He sleeps soundly knowing he is loved and most importantly, loved by Kuroo Tetsurou.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!  
> We reached the end!  
> I find it very funny that I rushed to get this done in time for kuroaka week day 7, only to end up splitting it in chapters. My original idea was to publish all of them in a day but uni got in the way, unfortunately.  
> I was a bit worried about writing this, since I am not used to the dynamic of this ship, I hope I did it justice!! I love Kuroo and Akaashi an embarrassing amount and I think they would have a really good understanding of each other once they got over their differences; also Keiji is very dear to me and this fic was written hoping he knows how loved and worthy of love he is.  
> Let me know what you think/any suggestion in the comments!  
> Anyways, thank you so much for reading and sticking around until this last chapter. It really means a lot!!
> 
> bonus: I realized while writing that my classic background kind of took over in certain parts of the fic -but I also think it is kind of fitting for the couple in question ahah- so in case anyone is interested, here is an explanation of the classical references in the fic (they are not terribly obscure, really, so you'll probably know them!)  
> -when Akaashi sees Kuroo at the forge, Cupid and Psyche were mentioned. Other than being represented in the gorgeous sculpture by Canova, the origin of the myth (that then inspired Beauty and the Beast!!) is to be found in the "Metamorphoses" written by Lucius Apuleius Madaurensis in the 2nd century AD. I won't go into the details but the gist of the story is that Psyche gets married to this mysterious man (Cupid or Amor, son of Venus) and they only meet in the dark. However, her envious sisters, plant the doubt in her mind that he might be a hideous looking monster, so they encourage her to approach him while he's asleep with a dagger and a candle to see what he really looks like. However when she sees Cupid she is so shocked by his beauty, she injures herself on one of his arrows and accidentally spills hot wax/oil on him. He wakes up and flees. This is just a condensed version of the story (that has a continuation) so I do encourage you to read it, since it's lovely.  
> -the poem of the title and that finally makes Kuroo and Akaashi kiss is by a Latin poet, Albius Tibullus. He wrote elegies about how much he loved his lover Delia and how he wished he could retire to the country side with her and live a rural life. I just thought it was very fitting for the cottegecore aesthetic of the fic.  
> The Latin verses are, if anyone is interested:
> 
> Et te, dum liceat, teneris retinere lacertis, 75  
> Mollis et inculta sit mihi somnus humo.  
> Quid Tyrio recubare toro sine amore secundo  
> Prodest, cum fletu nox vigilanda venit?  
> Nam neque tum plumae nec stragula picta soporem  
> Nec sonitus placidae ducere posset aquae. 
> 
> I might have missed something but that should mainly be it. Apologies for the rant and thank you again for reading!!
> 
> -spaces (Ari or vari)
> 
> (if you want, you can scream about kuroken/kuroo/haikyuu with me on Twitter: @varivarvar)


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